


Some Sweet Oblivious Antidote

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Memories . . . misty water-color memories.  Or not.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Some Sweet Oblivious Antidote

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Companion 2: Between the Lines (1980)

Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy were stretched out comfortably in the Doctor’s private office. Bones handed Jim one of his famous, very potent drinks, something called an Orion Sunset Julep. In one corner of the glass was a purple leaf, which Kirk eyed suspiciously.

Ostensibly, this was just a friendly chat, but the Captain had known McCoy too long. He saw the furrowed brow, the worried eyes. “Okay, Bones, what’s up?”

“Nothing, really. It’s not important.” McCoy tossed down his drink and got up nervously to fix another.

“Don’t give me that. You’ve got your worried-mother-hen look.” Kirk smiled encouragingly. “You might as well tell me.”

“Nothing I haven’t mentioned before.” McCoy carefully kept his back to the Captain. “It’s the psycho-engram on Spock. He still refuses to take it.”

Kirk was annoyed. “That’s his right. There’s nothing in the regulations that says he has to. We’ve been through this before, Bones. Why don’t you just drop it?”

Angrily, McCoy turned to face Kirk. “I’m not talking about regulations, damnit. I’m talking about what he needs.”

The Captain was becoming more irritated. Bones could be a little too pushy where the Vulcan was concerned. His medical curiosity about Spock’s hybrid makeup sometimes overcame his more humane side. Kirk set his glass down with a thump. “Are you saying this new program is necessary for his mental health?”

McCoy looked uncomfortable. “No . . . On the record I can’t say it’s mandatory. Spock functions impeccably as Science Officer. There’s no problem as far as Starfleet is concerned.”

“All right, then; get off his back. You’ve been bothering Spock about this for weeks. You know what a private person he is. I’d think you’d be advising him _not_ to take the test.” Kirk grimaced distastefully. “I wouldn’t have gone through it myself if I’d realized what I was getting into. It’s not the most fun experience I’ve had—even in this office.”

“It’s not supposed to be enjoyable,” McCoy answered quickly. “It exposes buried neuroses. I know it’s rough; I went through it too, remember? But didn’t you feel better when it was over? More relaxed? More self-confident?”

Kirk sighed. “Yes, of course. But I’m Human. The less we suppress our deepest feelings and memories, the better our mental health. That’s basic psychology. It goes all the way back to Freud, doesn’t it?”

McCoy grinned as he poured another drink for Kirk. “That’s it exactly. Freud was wrong about a lot of things, but he was right about the subconscious. Sometimes it holds back more than it should. It makes mistakes. Not always, of course; some things are better left buried. As long as they don’t come out later in other, sometimes destructive, ways. But there’s usually _something_ deep in the subconscious that should be brought out into the daylight where it can be examined by the conscious mind and put in its proper perspective. That’s where the Sinclaire Psycho-Engram comes in. Sinclaire discovered a way to bring these things out without hypnosis, which was never reliable and often tended to dull the mind and distort the memories. In Sinclaire’s method, the electrical impulses of the brain are tapped directly, triggering the proper memories. With the drug to slow the subjective time rate even further, it’s virtually like reliving the experience.”

Kirk held up his hand tiredly. “Please, Bones. I heard this whole spiel before, when you talked me into it. And I still don’t see what this has to do with Spock. I always thought suppression was healthy for Vulcans.”

“I’m not worried about his Vulcan half. He gives it free rein every day of the week. It’s his Human half that gets repressed—much more so than in any full Human. I’ve always thought that was dangerous. Sooner or later it’s bound to come out, and I don’t think he’ll be able to face it.” The Doctor looked at Kirk defiantly. “He’s a hell of a lot more Human than he’ll ever admit. He denies it, pushes it back. If that’s not a classic case of repression, then I’m still an intern. And if he doesn’t get some of it off his chest—”

Kirk looked at McCoy steadily. “He’s not always so controlled with me, Bones. He’s learning to let some of his feelings out. You must have realized that when we told you about our relationship.”

As McCoy flushed slightly and turned away, Kirk watched him silently for several moments, wondering what his old friend was really thinking. It had been over a month since the shore leave when Kirk had told him of the bonding, and McCoy had carefully avoided the subject since their return. It had to be discussed, put into some kind of perspective to their own friendship; but Kirk found it increasingly difficult to bring the matter up again. There were times when the Doctor was even more difficult to approach than Spock—when his reserve was icier than any barrier Spock could raise.

Kirk stood and went to McCoy’s side. “You never really told me how you feel about Spock and me—our bond.”

McCoy glanced at him. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your life and your choice. And I think I can . . . understand it.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think that’s what’s worrying me about Spock, though.”

“Our bonding?” Kirk asked in surprise. “I thought you would be glad he’s not holding things in so much anymore.”

“Isn’t he?”

Kirk straightened at the question. “Well, I didn’t expect him to change overnight, if that’s what you mean. In fact, I don’t want him to change. If he isn’t always able to express how he feels, well, I _know_ how he feels. He doesn’t have to say it. Besides, that’s just the way he is.”

McCoy looked doubtful. “You don’t think this . . . bonding is a difficult emotional adjustment for him? That it isn’t causing any kind of conflict?”

“What do you mean ‘conflict’?” Kirk asked impatiently. “We haven’t had any problems.”

“Would you know if there were?”

“Of course I would. He’d be—”

“Jim,” McCoy broke in, “he would do anything he could to keep from hurting you. And he’s had a hell of a lot more experience blocking things than you have. If he is having problems with this, and I think he is, then the test could help him.” McCoy suddenly slammed his fist down on the desk. “I’m still the Chief Medical Officer here, damnit. If you can’t trust my judgment, maybe you should find a different one.”

Kirk started to speak, but stopped, considering the matter. Spock had seemed a little tense lately. He had thought it might be McCoy’s attitude, but . . .

He smiled gently, sensing the real concern for Spock behind the Doctor’s bluster. “Okay, Bones. You win. I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

It wasn’t easy, and Kirk himself still had reservations, but Spock reported to Sickbay the next day. Kirk was positive that part of the reason Spock agreed was that he knew McCoy would never know the results. They were fed directly into the computer for analysis and filing. Sinclaire’s one insistence was that a person’s private hells should never become public knowledge. Spock trusted computers more than he did the good Doctor. Besides, not knowing would probably drive McCoy crazy.

But then again, Kirk mused, maybe Spock trusted McCoy’s medical judgment more than he would admit. After all, Bones had pulled him through some pretty close calls. In some ways McCoy was more of an expert on Spock’s emotional makeup than anyone else was.

Whatever the reasons, Spock appeared in Sickbay and dubiously placed himself in the Doctor’s hands.

“So Jim talked you into it after all,” McCoy said, delighted.

Spock’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “Let us just say that my scientific curiosity overcame my common sense.”

“I think that’s an insult,” McCoy replied cheerfully, “but I’ll ignore it. Just lie over there. This won’t hurt a bit.”

Spock lay down on the indicated bed and eyed the Doctor with distaste. “Must you persist in saying that when it is usually a complete untruth?”

“Just shut up and relax.”

McCoy attached the electrodes to Spock’s fingertips and temples, dimmed the lights, and studied the life signs displayed over the bed. “Close your eyes and try to clear your mind.”

“I am certain you could give me pointers on that, Doctor.”

“Knock it off, Spock. I don’t argue with my patients.”

“Really? I must disagree—”

McCoy turned a dial and Spock’s words faded. The life signs on the panel dipped slightly. McCoy smiled. “Okay, Spock, let’s hope this does you some good. You’re getting to be a Vulcan pain in the ass.”

The sound of the Sickbay door opening caught his attention. Turning, he saw Kirk standing in the doorway looking worried.

“How’s it going, Bones?”

“Now who’s the mother hen?” McCoy asked, amused. “I just got him under. It will take a while. I’d take him off the duty roster for at least forty-eight hours.”

Kirk looked even more worried. “Why? It only took a couple of hours with me.”

“I know. But I think he’ll need to meditate for quite some time when this is over. In subjective time he’ll be reliving days—maybe months. And it’s going to be harder on him than it was on you.”

“When will you know if something is happening?”

McCoy motioned toward the readings above the bed. “That’s the only contact I have with the procedure. When the vital signs change—blood pressure, pulse, temperature—all of it tells me something is going on emotionally. If it gets too bad, say it becomes erratic or goes into a critical area, I give him a shot of ‘forget me’ juice. It cancels out the whole program. There are some areas that are better left untouched. I think Spock is strong enough to take it, though.”

“Did you have to give me a shot?” Kirk asked curiously.

“No, but I came close a couple of times.”

“I relived Edith’s death,” Kirk said quietly. “I guess something in me needed to know I had made the right decision.”

“Yeah, it usually boils down to that. Decisions. You can never be certain you made the right ones, which causes a lot of conflicts in the subconscious. Sometimes they’re never resolved.”

“What happened with you, Bones?” Kirk asked, then stopped, embarrassed. “Sorry. None of my business.”

McCoy smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I relived my divorce and my decision to join Starfleet. I guess, deep down, I always thought it was a form of running from responsibility—taking off into the wild, empty spaces and leaving Joanna with Caroline. This”—he patted the Sinclaire console—”helped me realize it was better than having her torn between two strong-willed and disillusioned parents.”

Knowing instinctively that McCoy had said all he was going to on that one subject he kept so private, Kirk went to stand beside Spock. His hand went out to touch the Vulcan’s shoulder with affection. “What do you think he’ll go through, Bones? Our bonding?”

McCoy shrugged. “Do you think he doubts it was the right decision?”

Kirk looked up, jaw set. “No. It was the right decision. He knows that. It was the only decision for both of us.”

* * *

_Vulcan. Calm, warm. Clear red skies over stark, harsh landscape. A planet where strength and endurance are prerequisites for survival. There is little softness here. Once it seethed with violence—now peace and precision reign._

_Spock forced himself to walk slowly, turning his decision over in his mind one final time. No, there was only one choice possible. He must leave Vulcan. The thought caused a wrenching pain deep inside him. But he was tired, so tired of fighting it all. All his life he had fought to prove that he was totally Vulcan, and now he knew that he had failed._

_Logically he knew that, despite the hints and innuendoes he had heard, he would be accepted by the Vulcan Science Academy. His own qualifications and—he might as well face it—his father’s prestige would assure him a place there. But he also knew that he would never be truly accepted. He was a variable, an unknown quantity. Always there would be those fastidious, scrutinizing looks that had followed him through childhood; people wondering when his Human half would slip out. If he were to be honest with himself, even he was not certain. It was a anxiety he lived with constantly, and now he realized that he could never resolve it here._

_The decision to leave had not been an easy one, but it was the only one he could make. If only Sarek would understand that fact._

_When Spock got home he went directly to his father’s study, afraid to procrastinate for fear he would lose his momentum and run like a scared sehlat. I am no longer a child, he told himself sternly. I make my own decisions. Still, this wasn’t going to be a comfortable conversation._

_He knew instinctively that Sarek would view his son’s plans as l a form of cowardice. He would be expected to stay and prove himself, to force others to see his worth. But Spock could not face it any longer. It was a weakness within him that he would discover again and again as time went on—fighting his emotions was a private turmoil he could not bear to have witnessed by others._

_Pausing at the door, he steeled himself for the confrontation. He entered and saw Sarek reading at his desk. “Father, if you are not occupied, I would like to speak to you.”_

_Sarek looked up calmly. “From your look of agitation, I perceive you have something of importance to impart to me.”_

_Spock felt his muscles tighten with tension. He had thought his emotions were rigidly under control, but his father had always had the uncanny ability to see right through him. “I wish to inform you that I have been offered a position at Starfleet Academy,” he said quietly._

_Sarek remained impassive. “I take it you are seriously considering this or you would not have brought it to my attention.”_

_“I have decided to accept,” Spock replied almost defiantly._

_Sarek stood and faced his son, his eyes probing Spock’s. “I see,” he said slowly. “What of your position at the Science Academy?”_

_Spock turned away, feeling his nervousness reach to his fingertips. With amazement, he realized that he was trembling slightly. He suppressed it with difficulty, knowing this was the only man in the galaxy who could cause this reaction in him. He loved and respected his father in a way that was perhaps unseemly for a Vulcan. He desperately needed that paternal support and understanding now, but he knew emotional responses were not what his father wanted or expected._

_“Starfleet offers a great scientific opportunity,” Spock said carefully. “Eventually I hope to obtain a position on a starship. There could hardly be a better place for a scientist to study the unknown.”_

_Sarek studied his son, missing nothing. “You know my opinion concerning Starfleet. It is not the Vulcan way to settle disputes with violence. If you enter the service, you will undoubtedly be required to participate in acts of aggression.”_

_“I have heard your views on Starfleet. I have never heard you say it is unnecessary.”_

_“It will function quite well without your support, however.”_

_“So will the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock returned drily._

_Sarek did not reply. He seemed to consider the matter carefully, and Spock felt a chill run through him when his father finally spoke. “Many will say you have turned your back on your Vulcan heritage.”_

_“You know that is not true,” Spock said quickly, trying to ignore the pain in his heart. “Vulcan is my home. I am Vulcan—that can never change.” He paused, meeting his father’s gaze steadily. “And you, Father—what will you think?”_

_He searched Sarek’s eyes vainly for some trace of warmth or understanding. Sarek did not answer for several minutes; when he did, his face was iron, his words steel._

_“I think you are turning your back on your family—and me. Will you reconsider this rash decision?”_

_Spock swallowed painfully and shook his head. “I cannot . . . I will not.”_

_Sarek waited a split second more, then dropped his eyes. “So be it. That is your privilege. I wish you well.”_

_He turned abruptly to leave, and Spock, feeling his control shake precariously, called to him, “Father!”_

_Sarek turned back to face him, eyes cold as only Vulcan eyes could be. Spock had never felt so alien. To show emotion at this point would be revealing a weakness his father would scorn. “Live long and prosper, one who gave me life.” Although he was trembling and aching inside, he managed to keep his voice steady._

_There was no softening in Sarek. “Live long, he who was once my son.”_

_He left, and Spock felt something freeze inside him. The emptiness grew—that cold aloneness he would come to know so very well. He sat down and buried his face in his hands. What had he done? He had lost his father’s respect forever. He shook inwardly and could not control it. Sarek knew the reason he was leaving; the perceptive Ambassador would not ignore the possibility of his son’s rejection on Vulcan. But Sarek’s disappointment was not in that. Rather, it was in Spock’s inability to fight it any longer, to face and conquer that rejection. Spock felt shame and remorse rise within him like a tide._

_He heard the door open and composed himself hastily. “Spock, what’s happened?” It was Amanda, upset and puzzled._

_“I just spoke to your father. He said you weren’t going to enter the Vulcan Academy. What does this mean?”_

_“That is correct, Mother. I have decided to join Starfleet.” He stood, finding this conversation even more difficult than the other._

_“But why? I don’t understand, Spock. This isn’t like you. You know the plans your father has for you. Why are you going against his wishes?”_

_“It is necessary.”_

_“Necessary?” She stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you must straighten this out with Sarek. You’ve hurt him.”_

_“Hurt him?” Spock said, and was startled to hear the brittle sarcasm in his own voice. “I do not believe my father would describe his mental condition in such terms. He has accepted my decision. It is no longer a topic for discussion.”_

_“Spock!” He could feel his mother’s temper rise. “I cannot believe you are speaking to me this way. I know you’ve hurt your father, and I will not stand for it. I insist you apologize to him at once. You have enough Humanity in you to enable you to give a little. I am your mother, after all.”_

_“It is because you are my mother that I must leave,” Spock replied bitterly before he could bite it back._

_Amanda froze. She put her hands over her face, as if to ward off further blows, and Spock had several long minutes to regret with deep sorrow what he had flung at her in anger. At last she spoke, her voice strained. “I was afraid of this. When I gave birth to you I wondered if Sarek and I had made the right choice. As you grew, I saw your pain, your alienness. I thought—I prayed—that when you became an adult this difference wouldn’t matter. But it does, doesn’t it? That’s why you have to leave.”_

_Spock nodded slowly, reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Mother.”_

_“I’m the one who’s sorry, Spock.” He saw the tears flow down her face unchecked. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry before. “I’ve hurt you by giving birth to you. Believe me, it was done out of love. Sarek and I wanted something of our love to live on. We were selfish; I see that now. We didn’t think what it would do to you. Please forgive me.”_

_Spock went to her and touched her hand. “Please, do not say that. I do not regret your being my mother. It is precious to me. I do not regret my life. I shall live it and learn to be what I am. I am grateful to you for that.”_

_There was great strength in Amanda. She gathered herself together and smiled gently. “I understand why you must go; I do. It will hurt me to be parted from you, but I know you’re right. Somewhere you’ll find someone who will accept you for what you are, not what you’re expected to be—by this world or any other. Someone who will complete you as Sarek does me.” She paused, then added with hope in her voice, “Do you think Earth could be your home, Spock?”_

_“No,” he said, unwilling to hurt her more, but forcing himself to be truthful. “I have no home, not now. You realize that I cannot return here as long as Fath— Sarek feels as he does.”_

_She was silent a moment, thinking. “Someday you’ll find a home, my son. It’s not always a place; sometimes it’s a person. Sarek is my home, not Earth, not Vulcan. Sometimes I’ve missed the green of Earth—and snow—I miss snow, but while I have Sarek, it’s not important. Not at all. He’s everything: spring buds, ice on twigs like diamonds, falling leaves, he’s snow and tender green grass, and—” She saw his puzzled expression and smiled. “Never mind. You’ll never understand until it happens to you. Then it will be different visions. Maybe hot sun, red sand, that bittersharp smell of the she’likan blooming outside our garden wall. Sarek keeps trying to uproot it, but it’s so persistent. Do you know how long he’s tried to get rid of that weed?”_

_Spock shook his head, feeling calmer as he listened to his mother’s reminiscences._

_“They started blooming the year you were born. I liked them, but Sarek said it was illogical to want a weed that only bloomed one day out of the year, and the rest of the year tried to take over the garden. Somehow that one day was enough for me. It may be an odd plant, but it has such strength, such tenacity, to hold out even over Sarek—I love it. If he ever manages to get rid of it, I’ll be very sad.”_

_“I, too, Mother,” Spock said shyly, reluctant to express such an illogical thought._

_“Anyway, as I said, someday you’ll find someone. There’s so much inside you that you don’t let free. There will be someone who will see this, then you will be home.”_

_Hesitantly, Spock began, “Mother, I—”_

_She smiled. “I know, son. You love me, but you find it difficult to speak the words, the same as your father does sometimes. But you say it in a thousand other ways, just as he does.” She turned away abruptly. “When must you leave?”_

_“Tonight.” He took a deep breath. “I think Sarek would not wish me to stay under his roof any longer than necessary.”_

_Amanda turned back and took his hand in hers. “Don’t be so hard on him, Spock. Please try to understand. He loves you so much, in his own way, that he can’t bear to see you take a different path—maybe a dangerous one. He fears for you. Being what he is, he can’t show it. Letting you go isn’t easy for me; for him it’s far worse. You are his blood, his hope. You know Vulcan ways; they’re not easy. Custom, logic, heritage—these things are everything. Don’t turn away from him, I beg you.”_

_“He has turned from me.”_

_“Oh, Spock . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “Remember, time is healing.” She put her arms around her tall son. “I must go to him now. In some ways he needs me more than you do. I love you, Spock. Don’t forget the love I’ve tried to teach you. It’s the one emotion I refuse to give up on Vulcan.”_

_Hesitantly he returned the embrace. Part of him wanted to return it wholeheartedly, without reluctance—but he was Vulcan. That was his paradox, the tearing of cultures and values. To which did he belong, Human or Vulcan—if either?_

_He went to his room and packed his belongings to be sent to Starfleet Academy. Last of all he picked up his lyrette. Touching it seemed to give him some sort of comfort. Tucking it under his arm, he left his home without a backward look._

_Instead of going straight to the spaceport, he walked out into the desert. The shining mica in the sand picked up the scant light in the Vulcan night, and the stark beauty of the desert was reflected in his dark eyes. He would never see it again in quite the way he saw it now. It would never again be quite as important to him as it was at this crystallized moment in time._

_His eyes, easily adjusting to the moonless night, reveled in the sight of the ageless stones and limitless red sands._

_When he reached a place of solitude, he halted, dropped down onto the still-warm ground and idly strummed a few notes on his lyrette. To leave here was like ripping his very being from the core of this world. His roots went deep in the dry sand; his blood ran hot with Vulcan history. Whatever he was now, or would become, he would remain Vulcan in his soul. This was his origin, his being._

_The music from his lyrette soothed him, quieted his seething emotions, even though it sang of his aching loneliness._

_His gaze moved to the night sky. Undimmed by moon or thick atmosphere, the stars glowed with an intensity never seen on Earth. Their brightness beckoned hungrily, drawing him like shining gems. So much knowledge hidden in each brilliant light. So much mystery._

_Laying his lyrette on the sand, he stood and stared at the vast expanse of the galaxy with new vision. A strange exhilaration spread through him, blood pumping excitedly through his veins. He would be there soon. Would learn some of the stars’ secrets. And perhaps, as Vulcan had found peace after so many centuries of turmoil, he, too, would find his own kind of peace somewhere in that unbelievable expanse of stars._

* * *

McCoy was carefully watching the indicators. They had begun to fluctuate rapidly and he had seen Spock’s body tense at what must have been a particularly painful memory. He was beginning to wonder if Jim had been right—that Spock could not accept this intense scrutiny of his emotional past. For a moment he toyed with the idea of stopping this now before it went any deeper. No, he decided. He still felt strongly that Spock needed this emotional catharsis. Much of what Spock felt was hidden so deeply that even Spock himself was unaware of it.

Or refused to accept it.

* * *

Memories were coming more quickly now—the changing shapes and patterns of his life. Some were shadows, indistinct and ungraspable. Some were crystal clear and sharp, underscoring each important episode of his life. Forcing him to recognize the deep emotions he had felt and had tried so desperately to hide—even from himself. The Human in him took a deep breath of relief at the temporary release; the Vulcan half shrank from the raw illogic of the heart.

_Captain Pike was leaving._

_How long had it taken him to feel so close to this man? From the moment they had met, over eleven years earlier, he had felt an affinity, an understanding. Even if the relationship had never become what it might have, it was not Pike’s fault, and Spock knew it. Pike had tried, but . . . Of course, Pike had changed, too, with the responsibilities of command he had become more distant. Spock understood that, perhaps better than anyone else._

_But he could be comfortable with this kind, strong Human. He didn’t have to prove anything except competence. Pike was something Spock had never had—a father figure who was able to show compassion. Someone who corrected him—never lectured—in no uncertain terms when he was wrong, praised him proudly when he was right, and understood the in-between times when he was just average. The Captain had patience with Spock’s feeble attempts to be openly Human, and had understood his retreats within himself when these attempts inevitably failed. He had stood beside Pike in battle as they shed blood, green and red, upon the ground of distant worlds._

_Now he was leaving. For Spock, it was like losing his father again._

_Pike must leave; Spock knew that in all logic he could not refuse a promotion like this. And Spock must stay. The Enterprise was home; where else could he go? He could not face the curious, prying eyes that would inevitably follow a transfer. The ones who would now come to the ship would be the interlopers, not he. Spock’s place on the Enterprise was certain; he need not defend it. And he was First Officer now, not merely Science Officer. He never wanted to come any closer to command. He had seen the look in many eyes at his appointment, and knew it would be illogical for him to attempt a higher place in Starfleet. He would never generate the necessary loyalty. He would never have the—what was the Human word? —the charisma to pull it off for more than short periods of time. Nor had he any desire to try._

_This new Captain, James Kirk, would he be anything like Pike? Could he be?_

_Captain Pike had spoken privately to Spock before he left, praising Kirk. Even though Kirk was the youngest man ever to be assigned to a battlecruiser—near Spock’s age, in fact—he was someone extraordinary. A man of exceptional bravery and command potential. Near the top of his class at Starfleet Academy. Enough medals and citations to paper a wall, even though he was only thirty-two._

_Pike had personally recommended Kirk to be his successor on the Enterprise, a custom often followed, but seldom honored. In this instance, it was—gladly._

_Spock could not forget the last words Pike had said to him. “Spock, I know it might be harder for you than for the rest of the crew, but I want you to accept Jim Kirk as Captain. Not just because it’s your duty, but because he deserves it. He’s a good man. I think you two could be friends, if you let it happen. Real friends. Just give him a chance.”_

_Unwillingly, Spock recalled the earnest look in the blue eyes. “Give him your best, Spock.”_

_Now his Captain was gone, and Spock felt the emptiness that had never really been filled, but had somehow been tolerated when Christopher Pike was near. That emptiness would not easily be filled again. He would do his duty as First Officer and Science Officer, but loyalty was something that must be earned. Even Vulcans openly recognized loyalty; it was a trait to be admired but not lightly given, not without reason. If this Kirk deserved it, he must prove it._

_As Spock stood in the transporter room awaiting the arrival of the new Captain, he felt himself settle solidly into his Vulcan personality. It was undeniably convenient at times._

_The shimmer of the transporter resolved into a strongly-built, gold-shirted man. He was handsome—perhaps not as classically handsome as Pike, but pleasing to the eye nevertheless. He had sandy brown hair and hazel/green eyes. He looked years younger than thirty-two. Kirk displayed a strange mixture of cockiness and hesitance he stepped down from the platform._

_Noticing Spock, he came forward eagerly. “I’m Jim—James T. Kirk. You must be Mr. Spock.”_

_“Yes, sir. Welcome to the Enterprise, Captain.”_

_“Thank you.” Kirk looked around the transporter room and let out a deep breath. He grinned, an attractive boyish grin. “She’s a beautiful lady, Mr. Spock.”_

_Spock felt an odd jolt, remembering similar words from Chris Pike many years before. But this was not Pike, in spite of the warm smile and the enthusiasm. He could never be Christopher Pike._

_During the next few weeks Spock watched the new Captain carefully. He saw the impulsiveness, the emotionalism, the openness. He also saw the courage, the strength, the intelligence._

_Whenever he felt drawn to the warmth of that smile, however, he backed away almost coldly. He did not need Kirk; he was Vulcan._

_It seemed somehow disloyal to Pike to feel anything for Kirk but casual respect, although he saw quickly that this man was quite equal to Pike in his competency. But this was not Christopher Pike._

_The other new officers who came with the Captain seemed to fit in well on the Enterprise, especially Montgomery Scott. Spock could feel nothing but admiration for this man’s talent in engineering and mechanics. He was nothing short of a genius. True, his outspoken passion for the ship—which he had apparently adopted on sight—was somewhat distasteful, but understandable in a Human. Sulu and Uhura were also quite efficient and respectful._

_But Spock could find no liking for the new navigator, Gary Mitchell. He was apparently a close friend of the Captain’s, and they spent much of their free time together. Mitchell was brash, conceited, arrogant, and overbearing. He was not above telling Vulcan jokes, of all types, in Spock’s hearing._

_There was very little about Gary Mitchell for a Vulcan to admire, other than his evident competence as a navigator. Spock could not help wondering what a man of James Kirk’s obvious intelligence and compassion would find attractive in Mitchell’s irresponsible personality._

* * *

The readings dropped again, and McCoy wondered idly what exactly was going on in the Vulcan’s head. The changes were more rapid now, which worried him. They should have maintained a more steady pace. But who could figure what went on in a Vulcan’s mind? That worried McCoy, too.

* * *

_The Captain had saved his life. True, it was a very illogical thing to do—but it worked. They were both alive. And that look they had exchanged when Kirk regained consciousness—what had it meant? Just a Human reaction, no doubt—one Spock had responded to from his own Human half because of his weakened condition. Friendship? Kirk had saved his life . . ._

_Still, the proposed game of chess pleased him more._

_It all happened so quickly. The mission to the edge of the galaxy. The barrier. The force field. The terrible change in Gary Mitchell. Kirk’s tortured decision to strand Mitchell on Delta Vega. Spock strained his mind to think of another solution for the navigator’s mutated condition . . . no other answer . . . but it wounded Kirk so deeply._

_Mitchell’s death, Kirk’s great pain, easily read in his eyes. The awful responsibility of command decision when it involves a close friend. But Kirk made that decision._

_Spock felt his reserve crack. This suffering must be shared. Kirk was undergoing the first real test of his command, the first agony of many he would feel as Captain. He should not have to bear it alone._

_Spock said those words of regret at Mitchell’s death and never was sorry for speaking them. Kirk had needed the reassurance, the sympathy. His pain had been lessened slightly by the sharing._

_Those games of chess—how did Kirk win so often? It was really most irritating . . ._

* * *

_He really wants to discuss this, doesn’t he? He needs to confide in someone. McCoy is not the one he wants to talk to. What does Jim want from me? Reassurance? A human failing – but he is Human. Yet he is always so sure of himself while on the bridge. A paradox. Why does he seek me out afterward? The decisions are already made. He will follow his own brand of logic in any case; we both know that._

_Psi 2000. Why did he have to be the one who saw me this? The walls were down. So very much escaped. So much I wanted hidden, buried forever. But he saw it, he knew. No logic, no control, just truth. And he saw—he struck me. (Good! It was wrong, un-Vulcan . . . he was right to strike.) He knows now._

_Would you want any other to know?_

_I am in command. Galileo . . . must save . . . two men dead. Where is my logic now? (Where is Jim?) Everything has gone wrong. No solution. Resentment—I can feel it. I could never command, could never stand this barrage of bitterness and blame. (How can Jim stand it?) I am in command. I am Vulcan . . .no good . . . the Vulcan way is useless. Logic useless. Sarek, what do you do when logic is death? Die? I must not be truly Vulcan for I do not wish to die. My command is lost—my hope is not. (Hope? Jim? Impossible, but . . .)_

_The transporter! Beautiful—ridiculously beautiful._

_I love Leila, Jim. Don’t hit me . . . don’t taunt me . . . I love you, too. Don’t you see? I’m happy for the first time . . ._

_Edith has to die, Jim, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . ._

_I will not let him be hurt anymore. Too much, he has been hurt too much. Too much . . . he has been hurt too much. No more hurt . . . Forget._

_I burn, T’Pau. My eyes are flame. I will do what I must . . . but not with him . . . his blood does not burn. He is my friend._

_Friend._

_Forget . . . forget . . ._

_I don’t like that, Doctor . . . I don’t think I ever did . . ._

_Blind, deaf, dumb . . . Frightened. Where am I? Who am I? (Avoid the question. I have a . . . wait, I can feel! A hand, a face. Jim. A tear . . ._

_It’s okay, Jim. I’m not afraid anymore._

_All right, so he wanted to be with Alena. Natural; he’s a Human male on shore leave. I’m just his First Officer, not his—Bitterness . . . jealousy? Illogical. There is no reason for him to want to stay with me. He has never been interested in ruins. Not even in the ruins of a broken half-Vulcan heart. Stop it! Illogical._

_The horse! He bought me the horse! (When you find those boys with the knife . . . thank them . . .)_

_Sick . . . it hurts . . . Mother (I am Vulcan, there is no pain.) There is no pain. But it’s so cold . . . so lonely. No touch . . . Where’s Jim? (Were you here, Jim?) I need to touch . . . someone. (Vulcans do not need to touch) But I need . . . it’s so cold . . . so lonely . . . Someone, please . . . I know I’m sick, but I can’t help it . . . it’s not my fault. Really, father, it’s not my fault. I’m sorry. Just touch me. No more steel and glass and plastic . . . I can’t stand it (I am Vulcan!) But I’m alive . . . I am alive. I need more than this sterility to survive. I can’t help it. Vulcan is a hot planet, you know, and it’s so cold . . . what? The temperature is Vulcan normal? It can’t be . . . I’m cold. The Enterprise is so much warmer than this, and I’m cold here . . ._

_Just leave me alone . . . I’m all right. I’m Vulcan. No more robots, no more steel and plastic . . . just leave me alone. I’m better now. I can take care of myself. (Jim, where are you?) No thank you, I don’t need anything . . . I am Vulcan. (Touching is not necessary) Six months? All right, six months. I am Vulcan . . . it is a short amount of time to be alone . . . we do not like to be touched in any case . . ._

_Jim! (Is it really Jim?) I’m sorry, Jim, I need . . . Touch me . . . be real . . . don’t be plastic or steel . . . don’t break like glass, I need you so much. Even Vulcans need to know they are alive._

_Thank you, Jim._

_T’Pau, I will not—I cannot bond with another. Neither you nor any other can dictate the course of my life. It is my right . . . I take it. My life or death is in my own hands. When I enter my next pon farr, I will handle it in my own way. it is no longer your concern._

_You are my life, Jim. The center of my existence. You have taught me how to feel. I do not wish to unlearn._

_I am home. At last I have found home. Jim . . ._

_Father—what will he say? Vulcan tradition. He must understand or at least try to understand. Will he think it is wrong to love Jim? Is it un-Vulcan? Will he at least listen to me . . . not turn away again?_

* * *

Kirk sat back in his command chair, relaxing a little. Spock’s ordeal was a strain on him as well. From his own experience, he knew what Spock was going through, and it could never be easy—the past was always painful, and Spock’s past was, in many ways, more painful than most. But McCoy thought he needed this, and Bones usually knew what he was doing. However, Kirk still ached at the thought of the hell Spock must be experiencing. It would be over very soon now, he hoped, and things could get back to normal.

He had just turned to give Chekov a course correction when the chill hit him. It ran through his body like an electric jolt, numbing him for a second. Feeling dizzy and disoriented, he swayed in the chair. What the hell was going on? Disjointed images and emotions flashed through his mind, moving with such blinding speed he was unable to take them in coherently. Except the emptiness and cold, that feeling was solid and hard and unshakable.

He rubbed his eyes with a trembling hand. Confused, he tried to calm his growing panic.

 _Spock—it must be Spock!_ He was picking up emanations through their link. But why now? Spock had been undergoing the psycho-engram for several hours. It should be almost finished by now.

He stood shakily, but before he could reach the turbolift the call came from Sickbay. “McCoy to Kirk.”

He reached the chair with a bound and slammed down the button. “Kirk here.”

“Jim, you’d better get down here.”

“On my way. Mr. Sulu.” He motioned toward the command chair, and before Sulu could respond, the doors to the turbolift were closing behind Kirk.

When he saw Spock his throat constricted painfully. McCoy had disconnected the electrodes, and the Vulcan was thrashing violently. The Doctor and an orderly were trying to hold him down and buckle the restraints.

“Don’t!” Kirk cried out instinctively, Spock’s deep hatred of constraint foremost in his mind. McCoy glanced up as Spock suddenly subsided. Following McCoy’s gaze, Kirk saw the readings over the bed drop alarmingly.

“Bones,” his voice was a harsh whisper. “What’s going on?”

McCoy’s face was ashen. “I wish I knew. Everything was going fine until I disconnected the apparatus and stopped the drug flow. For the last ten minutes his metabolic rates have been dropping steadily. He’ll rouse for a moment, fighting—as if he’s trying to get back—but then he drops back into his stupor. I just don’t understand it, Jim. Nothing I gave him should have caused this reaction. He should be perfectly functional now. Not like this.”

Stunned, Kirk stared at the panel. “The readings are so low.”

“And they keep getting lower as he goes deeper. If he’s not brought out of it soon, it may be too late.”

“Can’t you give him a stimulant or something to bring him out of it?”

McCoy shook his head. “I’m afraid it would be too great a shock to his system in the shape he’s in now. The trauma—”

“You have to do something!” Kirk interrupted angrily, the cold fear he felt for Spock turning to resentment at McCoy for putting Spock in this danger. The mental link had subsided when Spock did, but Kirk still felt shaken and alone—very much alone. “You said this wouldn’t hurt him! You said he needed it!” He continued blasting McCoy. “Now you’re telling me he’s dying and you can’t do anything?”

Guilt and self-recrimination were written plainly on McCoy’s white face, but Kirk was too frightened to notice or care.

“I’m sorry,” McCoy choked. “I had no idea this would happen. I should have known—”

“I’m not interested in hearing excuses, Doctor,” Kirk snarled. “Just do something to save Spock!”

“I can’t. I don’t know what’s caused this reaction, and I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve already done everything I know to do.”

Kirk tore his eyes from Spock’s too-still face. “Damn you! You just had to try this on Spock, didn’t you? You couldn’t resist experimenting. And now it’s killing him. What was it, Doctor? Jealous of what Spock and I have?”

The bitterness in Kirk’s voice made McCoy wince as if struck. “Jim, please.”

Kirk sat on the edge of Spock’s bed, trembling at the almost deathlike stiffness of his companion’s body. “If you can’t help him, get the hell out of here. Leave us alone.”

McCoy straightened, suddenly angry himself. “No.”

“I ordered you to get out,” Kirk snapped.

“Neither you nor god almighty can order me out of my Sickbay when I have a patient who needs me. Your Captain’s braid doesn’t mean shit here.”

Furious, Kirk jumped up, looking as if he were going to strike McCoy—but Spock suddenly began to move. Tossing weakly, he called out, “Mother . . . please.”

Kirk and McCoy turned guiltily, realizing how ludicrous their anger was in this situation. They both loved Spock; blaming and hurting each other would not help bring him back to reality.

Kirk sat back on the bed and touched Spock’s face. “Spock, oh, Spock . . .”

The Vulcan continued twisting on the bed, and the readings on the indicators shot up much too quickly. “Mother, Father, I’m sorry. Jim, where are you?”

* * *

_Spock was lost. He could not find his way back to the light and the warmth. And he was so cold—cold and alone. It was so empty here. He was frightened. He was afraid of the cold and the emptiness. If only his father would tell him it was all right to come home—that he did belong. But no—he wasn’t really Vulcan anymore. He loved and touched. Vulcans did not love—not the way he did. And Vulcans did not like to be touched. But he did—oh, how he loved that touch, that salty taste of cool Human skin._

_Wait—this did not correlate. His father and mother loved. Sarek must know the hot, sweet pleasure an alien flesh could give. The warm, deep, incredible joy the meld with a Human mind could bring. It wasn’t wrong. Please, Father, please understand._

_Don’t turn from me again. I could not bear it. Don’t hate me for wanting that touch._

_Jumbling, kaleidoscopic images resolved into one. It was drawn from the deepest well of memory._

_Mother was holding him, rocking him. Humming some sweet, forgotten lullaby. So safe, so warm, so loved. Cheek against the slow pulse in her throat. Small arms clutching sleepily around the much-loved body._

_“He is getting too old for this, my wife.”_

_“Sarek, he’s just a baby.”_

_“No, he is a Vulcan. He must learn self-reliance. He can go to sleep without your assistance. Come now, give the child to me. I shall put him to bed.”_

_“But . . . Very well, my husband. We agreed he would be raised as a Vulcan. But I’ll miss this very much. It gives me comfort to hold him close like this.”_

_“That is illogical, Amanda.”_

_“No, Sarek, it is Human.”_

_The child was roused from his dozing by the strong arms of his father lifting him from his mother’s embrace. Instinctively, he clung to his mother’s neck, not wanting to lose that comforting security._

_“Spock, you must come. You are old enough to understand that your mother has things to occupy her other than you. You must begin to learn you are Vulcan. It is a proud thing to be Vulcan. A Vulcan does not need to be rocked to sleep.”_

_Cold. He suddenly felt so cold. His father had held him close for a brief half-second before determinedly setting him down to walk. He somehow sensed that a part of his father did not want to put him down—wanted to hold him longer. But for some reason Spock could not understand, Sarek would not permit himself to do so._

_It seemed so cold in his room—and lonely. The night wind of the seasonal monsoon beat against the window. It made a lonesome sound—almost a cry of despair—as it whipped around the corner of the house. The child shivered slightly, knowing instinctively that his mother would not repeat the events of tonight._

_His father had forbidden it._

_A Vulcan did not need to be rocked to sleep._

* * *

“Bones, please.” Kirk’s tortured eyes met the Doctor’s. “There has to be something you can do before he slips back into coma.” He was having little trouble keeping Spock still on the bed—his movements were becoming sluggish and weak.

Feeling helpless, McCoy swallowed convulsively. He shook his head. “Jim, anything I give him in this state might kill him.”

“He’s dying anyway. You have to try something!”

McCoy hesitated for a moment, then made up his mind. He left the room hastily.

* * *

_Cold . . . so cold . . . As cold as the ice age of Sarpeidon—but there he’d had the savage impulses of his ancestors to warm his blood. And the touch of Zarabeth. Ah, that passion had been sweet, too. But nothing to the hot fire that warmed him with Jim, for he loved Jim._

_Jim . . . where are you, Jim? I’m lost . . . I don’t know the way back. Or even where I’m am. Why aren’t you with me in this emptiness? I belong by your side, not alone, here (wherever I am). Edith saw that, didn’t she? Do you think of her often, Jim? When you hold me, do you ever long for her? No . . . not now. I know your thoughts too well. Since the day you gave me the horse, I think we’ve both known. I long for no one other than you. Not Leila, not T’Pring . . ._

_T’Pring. Our bonding was never close. Unwilling, even from the first. A necessary part of our heritage. But I was . . . am . . . half-Human . . . why would she want me? And she was so cold, Jim. Even at seven she was cold and hard. But I did want her in the insanity of the blood fever . . . or was it really you I wanted even then? It must have been, or I never could have broken through the plak tow to speak. It was my last chance to become truly Vulcan by taking a Vulcan mate. But I have never regretted it. How could I?_

_Where are you now, Jim? I want to come home . . . please, help me come home to the ship/Vulcan . . . where is my home? Is that why I can’t find my way back, because I still don’t have a home? Are you my home? I love you . . . it hurts sometimes to love you so. It shouldn’t hurt, should it? But you frighten me always rushing into danger. Your life is too precious to risk. But I can’t change you . . . can’t risk changing you by protecting you, smothering you._

_What will my father think? Feel? I can’t . . . can’t lose him again. And I won’t lose you. I have lost so much . . . everything and everyone I have . . . cared about. I-Chaya, Leila, T’Pring, Zarabeth. My mother was lost to me in one way that nearly-forgotten night so many years ago. My father . . ._

_But I won’t lose you, Jim. You are the only one that matters. My completion . . . my home . . . my soul. Touch me, please. I need your touch, here in the dark. I have been starved for it._

_I . . . think . . . I . . . need . . . to . . . be . . . rocked . . . to . . . sleep . . ._

* * *

As Spock’s restless movements ceased and the readings on the panel plummeted, Kirk felt a surge of despair. He would lose Spock. They’d had such a short time together. _Not now_ , he thought. _I can’t lose him now_. In anguish, he pulled Spock into his arms and hugged him tightly, unconsciously rocking him. “Come back, Spock. Don’t leave me. I need you. I love you.”

McCoy had disappeared a few moments before; now he returned with a hypo. Glancing at the low readings, he gritted his teeth with determination. He pressured the contents of the hypo into Spock’s arm. “Come on, Spock,” he muttered. “Let this work.”

With shaking hands, he dropped the empty hypo onto the table and watched the indicators with anxious eyes. Kirk was still clutching Spock tightly, as if willing him to respond. The Captain could feel something—perhaps life—stirring in his mind. Spock moved slightly, and Kirk’s eyes flew to the monitors, which were rising slowly to more normal levels.

Kirk laid Spock gently back on the bed and looked at McCoy. “I just don’t know, Jim.” McCoy answered the unspoken question. “He’s stabilizing, but nothing has turned out the way I predicted it would. I just don’t know.”

The Vulcan shuddered and took a deep breath. His eyes snapped open to meet Kirk’s, and he smiled slightly. “Jim.”

Relief hit Kirk like a blow. When he could finally speak, his voice was unsteady. “Spock, how do you feel? Are you all right?”

“I feel . . .strange,” Spock said, taking another experimental deep breath. “But, on the whole, I would say I am quite functional.” He turned to look at Doctor McCoy. “A . . . unique experience.”

“I’m sorry, Spock,” McCoy fumbled. “I had no idea it would be so hard on you.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, I believe it did me a great deal of good.”

Kirk and McCoy stared at him in surprise as he continued, “Your hypothesis was apparently correct. I did have much that I needed to face.” His eyebrow rose. “Other than the fact that your noxious potions have made me feel somewhat nauseated, I am quite well.

Spock’s tone grew serious as he noticed McCoy’s pallor and strained expression. “From your appearance, I take it that there was some concern for my well-being. Let me assure you, I _am_ fine.”

“Are you sure?” Kirk asked worriedly. “We thought—”

“Yes, Jim. I would, however, be more comfortable in my own quarters. If that is permitted?”

After studying the indicators, McCoy nodded. “As long as you remain in your quarters. I don’t want you back on duty for at least forty-eight hours. And then only after I’ve checked you over again, understood?”

“Understood.” Spock got to his feet, pulling his shirt down with dignity. “Jim, would you accompany me?”

“Of course,° Kirk said quickly. “You don’t think I’d let you go alone, do you?”

Pausing at the door, Spock looked back at McCoy. His face softened. “Thank you, Bones. I feel much more at peace.”

McCoy flushed with relief. “I’m glad.” He purposely avoided Kirk’s apologetic eyes.

When they reached Spock’s quarters, Kirk felt the delayed reaction to his own fear and relief. It had all happened so quickly that he hadn’t really had time to take it in until now. He sat down weakly on the bed. “Spock, I was so scared. I thought I had lost you. I’ve never felt so helpless.”

Spock removed his shirt and undershirt and kicked off his boots. “Indeed? I did not realize it had been such a critical situation. However, I did feel some apprehension myself.”

“I still can’t believe you’re all right.”

Spock finished undressing. For once he was not carefully folding his clothes; he just tossed them onto a nearby chair. Finally nude, he turned to Kirk and sat beside him on the bed. He reached for the fastenings on Kirk’s shirt. Kirk studied him with puzzled eyes. There was something different about Spock—something slightly out of character. Kirk’s shirt and undershirt were off and Spock was reaching for the waistband of his pants before Jim could regain his voice. “Spock . . .what? Shouldn’t you rest?”

Spock ran his hand over Kirk’s chest and murmured in his ear, “I’ll rest afterward. Right now I want you.” He pushed Kirk down on the bed and kissed him hungrily.

Confused and surprised, Kirk stammered, “But . . . but—”

“Jim, I need you now. Please touch me, hold me.”

Kirk responded by pulling the Vulcan close. He was still unsettled by what had happened, and was startled by what was happening now. Spock so seldom initiated lovemaking; always reticent about imposing his desires on others, he left that up to Kirk.

This was quite a switch.

Spock’s hands and mouth were no longer asking—they were demanding. He had efficiently stripped Kirk of his pants, and now his mouth left a searing trail down Kirk’s neck and chest.

Kirk found it difficult to respond at first, still trying to shake off the cold fear he had felt at Spock’s danger; but the mouth was insistent—and increasingly erotic. His body tensed as Spock’s tongue wetly touched his nipples. The mouth trailed lower, pausing at the navel, then proceeding to the inside of his thighs. Kirk felt himself go hard as Spock’s soft hair brushed his cock. He relaxed then, letting his body flow with the sensations. If this was really what Spock needed now, then he was quite willing to oblige. And, after all, this was an age-old method of celebrating life.

Spock’s mouth centered on him abruptly, causing Kirk to gasp at the hot rush of ecstasy from the wet suction of those knowing lips.

His hands tangled in the shining black hair. Spock was also moaning with pleasure as he reveled in the salty, clean taste and the helpless, passionate upthrust of Kirk’s hips. Kirk felt his control flee and dug his fingers tighter into his lover’s hair.

The Vulcan rose and returned to Kirk’s mouth, thrusting his tongue deep inside. He pulled away and stared down at the hazel eyes, his own dark ones clouded and almost dreamy. “Jim,” he whispered, placing his palm against Kirk’s cheek. “You are so beautiful—so very beautiful.” He kissed Kirk again and held him close. “Touch me, Jim, please.”

There were tears in Kirk’s eyes as he looked at Spock’s suddenly very vulnerable face. How close he had come to losing him.

Life without his strength, loyalty, love—it would be unbearable. He would never find another who loved him so deeply, so totally—not blind to his faults, but understanding of them. If he lost Spock he would lose part of himself, and not just because of the bonding. It went so much deeper than that. He wasn’t sure when the wanting had become needing, but it was something he would have to face—something they would both have to face. It was frightening in a way. But he didn’t want to think about it right now. The nearness of the loss seemed to have heightened his senses. He was struck by the lean, hard beauty of Spock’s face, the supple strength of the long body.

It was his turn to push Spock back on the bed. Even more impatient than Spock had been, he went directly to the Vulcan’s aroused cock. As he took it in his mouth, sucking greedily, Spock moaned softly. More quickly than Kirk had expected, Spock began to climax. He held Kirk’s head, making him take more of the aroused flesh, as if he were afraid Kirk might try to escape. But Kirk had no desire to escape; he wanted it all, rejoicing in the Vulcan’s total abandonment to his senses. They were not in meld, but this time they did not have to be for Kirk to read Spock’s sensations. He felt himself coming in the heat of Spock’s hand.

For a long moment they were both frozen in that strange limbo that comes after such incredible release. Then Kirk turned to hold Spock in his arms once more.

They kept silent for a while longer, content with the warm comfort of their embrace. Finally Kirk spoke, touching Spock’s face softly. “ Will you forgive me for talking you into the psycho-engram? I was wrong. I know how terrible it was for you. I caught a little of it . . .”

“The link?” Spock questioned.

Kirk nodded.

“That is strange. Logically, you should not have experienced any of it. We were not in physical contact, were we?”

“You needed me, Spock,” Kirk said quietly. “I suppose that was the reason. I only got impressions—nothing specific.”

“Indeed. It is unfortunate that you were subjected to it.”

“You should never have been put through it,” Kirk said, angry again. “You were dangerously close to dying. It was so stupid, so unnecessary. McCoy should have known better. I blame myself, too. I talked you into it.”

“No, Jim. McCoy was right. I did need it. It helped settle some ghosts in my past that have been haunting me recently. It was not McCoy’s fault I became lost at the end. He had no way of knowing I would have difficulty in finding my way back. Even I did not foresee the possibility. My mind apparently has some . . . mazes, some dead ends. Places even I did not know existed. Very cold and lonely places. But I know my way out now—I will not get lost again. Not with you to light my way. It was rather like the other time, remember? When that alien craft damaged my sensory capabilities. I couldn’t hear or see. But you were there to help me in the dark. I think I would have gone mad if you had not been there. And this was worse, for I had no feeling this time either. Except the cold. You helped me out again, my friend.”

“For you to go through that—” Kirk broke off painfully.

“It was necessary.”

“You really think it was important for you to go through that hell? That McCoy was right?”

“I am very grateful to the Doctor.”

Kirk’s face looked strained. “I’m afraid I said some very cruel things to him. I was so—so frightened for you. Of course, he was, too, but I couldn’t see that. I just wanted to strike out at something, and he was convenient.” He bit his lip in frustration. “How could I have done that to him? How can I ever make it up to him? I hurt him so badly, Spock.”

Tenderly, Spock pushed the sweat-soaked curl off Kirk’s forehead. “He will understand. He knew it was your fear for me that made you speak in such a manner. So often I have found that the good Doctor understands far more than we give him credit for. I think he even knew the feelings I had for you long before I did.”

“I hope you’re right. If you knew some of the things I said to him—”

“I can imagine.” Spock smiled slightly at some memory. “I have seen you worried and frustrated before. You do tend to lose your head when you feel helpless. And the Doctor knows that, too. Stop worrying. He _will_ understand. I’m sure of it.”

Kirk was silent. Suddenly Spock sat up. “Jim, I have come to a decision about something. I need your permission before I can go ahead with it, however.”

Kirk came out of his reverie about McCoy and looked at Spock inquiringly. “What is it?”

“I must return to Vulcan and inform my parents of our bonding. I wish to . . . seek their blessing. I think that is the correct Human term for it. It is a somewhat more complicated issue on Vulcan.”

More startled than he cared to admit, Kirk tensed. Somehow he had never really considered this matter. He had asked Spock about it once and had gotten a rather noncommittal answer. Finally he asked, “Is that necessary?”

“Not necessary, but I do desire it. I feel many of my emotional problems were caused by my relationship with my father. As you know, we have since come to an understanding of each other. It would gratify me to get his approval of our bonding.”

“And if he doesn’t give it? It might be hard for him to accept, you know. It’s not exactly the Vulcan way, is it?”

Spock thought quickly, seeing the deep concern in Kirk’s eyes. He couldn’t let Jim see how much this meant to him. It would just hurt Jim more to know how worried he, himself, was about the matter. _Treat it lightly_ , he told himself. _Block the anxiety_.

“Yes, it is possible that my father will not approve,” he answered at last. “In that case I will live without his approval. I have done so often enough in the past. I told you not long ago that I was considered something of a rebel. At least I am still in character.” As he saw Kirk relax and smile, Spock mentally took a deep breath. _He is not so worried about it now. Good_.

“But you think he will approve?” Kirk asked hopefully.

 _Oh, by all the worlds, I wish I knew!_ Spock controlled himself with an effort. “Our relationship is not unprecedented, just unorthodox. Whatever happens, it cannot change my feelings for you. Nothing can. That is one thing I learned from this experience. Perhaps the most important thing. Sarek’s approval, while more important than I would have admitted to myself before this, is not absolutely vital. I believe I can accept whatever his answer will be. My mother is no problem. She is concerned only with my happiness. She will see my joy in you and be pleased. I learned much about myself from the psycho-engram, and perhaps about my father as well. He did marry my mother—” He broke off and looked at Kirk. He had avoided that penetrating hazel gaze as long as he could. It saw too much sometimes, as if looking into his very soul without the meld. Perhaps that was how all this had begun.

“Do you agree with my wish to seek their blessing?” Spock asked softly. “This concerns you, too. If you don’t want—”

“Spock,” Kirk took his hand and gripped it tightly. “You know I’ll go along with anything that will make you happy. We’ll go to Vulcan together.” Kirk grinned. “I’ve faced a Gorn; I’m sure I can face Sarek.”

Spock suddenly seemed exhausted, and they sank back onto the bed. They lay together, holding each other tightly, for a long time before Spock said sleepily, “Jim, when I began to regain consciousness, I thought you were rocking me in your arms.”

Kirk considered it. “I may have been. I don’t remember. Why?”

To Kirk’s surprise, Spock smiled contentedly. “I thought so. Do you know that you smell of _she’likan_?”

Kirk pondered that for a moment, but before he could ask what the hell _that_ was, he saw that Spock was asleep. For a while he continued to hold him, loving the warm, hard feel of his body and the deep, even breathing. His mind kept saying over and over, almost as a litany, _I haven’t lost him . . . I haven’t him_!

Presently he disengaged himself carefully from Spock’s embrace and got up. He dressed quickly, went into the outer room and flicked the intercom to Sickbay, at which point he was informed that McCoy had returned to his quarters.

With a last glance at Spock, he headed resolutely for the Doctor’s quarters, mentally kicking himself for his treatment of Bones. McCoy deserved at least the chance to kick him personally.

Outside the Doctor’s door, Kirk paused and breathed deeply, steeling himself. The door opened readily to his signal. To his surprise, he did not find McCoy trying to drown his frustration and anger with alcohol. He was standing before the mirror looking glumly at his pale reflection. Kirk approached him uneasily and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Hello, Jim,” McCoy said casually. “I was just noticing how something like this can age a man. I feel about twenty years older but somehow I don’t look much different.”

“Bones,” Kirk said softly, “I’m sorry.”

McCoy moved away and sat down heavily. “Why? You were right, I was wrong. I didn’t know enough about the possible effects on Spock. I almost killed him.”

“No, Bones, you were right. You helped him. He explained to me—” Kirk broke off and faced McCoy contritely. “I had no right to talk to you the way I did. Can you forgive me?”

“You didn’t say anything I wasn’t saying to myself.” McCoy shook his head. “And you were right. About some things, anyway. Jealousy—I don’t know, maybe. Oh, not of you or Spock, but of what you have together. Something I lost a long time ago or maybe I never really had it.” He slumped wearily in his chair and put his face in his hands. “Maybe I’m just not meant to get that close to anybody. Caroline and I, we never really knew each other, not really.”

Kirk stepped forward and laid a hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “Bones—”

McCoy stopped him. “No, Jim. It’s okay. I’ve thought for a long time about this. We never talked about it because, well, damnit, I was embarrassed to bring it up. Could be ‘cause I was jealous. The way it was before, we were all kinda lonely, kinda separate. I can’t say I don’t feel the odd man out; I do in a way. I always felt I was so much closer to people than Spock was. And now, well, now Spock has found something I never did—probably never could.” He sighed, and smiled slightly. “And, do you know, I’m glad for him. He’s my friend as much as you are. He needs you. I can still make contact with other people, even if it’s not deep, but Spock, he needed someone to be really close to—” He stopped and looked at Kirk steadily. “Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”

“I think so, Bones. You’re saying you approve.”

McCoy grinned. “I don’t know if I said _that_ , but I guess—guess it’s what I meant.” He sobered and looked down at his hands. “You don’t really think I put Spock through this because—"

“Bones, I _know_ you didn’t. I don’t know why I said that, except I was crazy at the idea that I might lose him . . . and that’s another thing I’ll have to deal with, and soon. I can’t let it affect my command.”

“You won’t. Just as I’m sure I didn’t let my own feelings affect my medical judgment. I just wanted to make sure you knew that. How’s Spock doin’ now?”

“He’s asleep. He’s really okay, Bones.”

“Good. I’ll check him out again later, just to be sure.” He grinned again, some of his good humor returning. “That damned Vulcan will never let me live this down. I think I’ve finally proved to him that my medical equipment really does consist of rattles, beads and potions.”

“By the way,” Kirk asked curiously, “what was that hypo you gave him that finally brought him out of it? I thought you said stimulants were too dangerous in his condition.”

McCoy looked uncomfortable. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a stimulant. At least—”

“What was it, then?”

The Doctor cleared his throat. “Well, it’s kind of an experimental drug, actually. I didn’t know what effect it would have on him, if any—but it seemed the safest bet at the time. I had to do something to make him react to outside stimuli before he slipped back too far—”

“Bones, what was it?” Kirk asked impatiently.

McCoy hesitated, then grinned ruefully. “It’s a derivative of the Venus drug. Ah, it’s an aphrodisiac.”

Kirk’s mouth fell open. “What—?”

“Yeah, it was kind of a long shot. I don’t think it’s ever been given to a Vulcan before, especially a half-Vulcan. In fact, I’m sure it hasn’t been. I had no idea how his hybrid system would react to it—but I didn’t have a hell of a lot of choices. Anyway, it did the trick. It roused him without giving his system too great a shock. It was a huge risk. I didn’t really know how it would affect him.”

Kirk chuckled, then laughed outright. Spock’s unusual actions were suddenly abundantly clear. “I think I could give you a pretty good idea of the effects,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his amusement.

“What?” McCoy asked, not quite catching the comment.

“Never mind, Bones. You’d just better never tell Spock what it was you gave him. Talk about potions!”

“Yeah. Well, it was the logical thing to do.”

“Indeed.”

Their eyes met and they cracked up, laughing as much out of relief from the last few hours tension and worry as from anything else.

Feeling quite mellow, Kirk left soon after, his and Bones’ friendship solidly restored. He would spend the night in Spock’s quarters to make certain there were no aftereffects or bad dreams.

He had reached the door to Spock’s room before he realized he hadn’t asked McCoy what the hell a supply of aphrodisiacs was doing in the ship’s pharmacy, experimental or not.

Then again—he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.


End file.
